Just Coffee
by SilvaBells
Summary: Artist AU Johnlock John is a single dad and his new flatmate is an artist looking for a model to help him with his work. Parentlock artist sherlock tattoo!lock coffee shop
1. Chapter 1

Monday thru Friday

Wake up. Brush teeth. Shower. Get dressed. Open book store. Get lunch. Close book store. Write. Sleep. Repeat.

But not Sunday.

Sunday goes:

Wake up. Brush teeth. Don't get dressed. Don't open the book store. Sit in self loathing pity. Make tea. Write. Cry self to sleep over the decisions I've made.

"I'm off," I say to myself since no one lives with me. Why would anyone want to?

I locked the door behind me and hummed a song as I walked down to my book shop in this small town. Nothing happens here, no one leaves, no one comes.

This town is the perfect little society. There are hair salons, bars, restaurants, mechanics. Everything is here so there is no reason to leave.

I turned on the radio and the Beatles began to sing. The lights flickered for a second until they stayed on. Turning the blinds made the room fill with more light.

I grabbed the duster and began to get rid of all the dust on the books. A couple people stop in and bought some things through out the day.

The day slows down and still and I begin to write. I write love stories, but I've never been in love. They mostly end up being what I want in a relationship.

"What's up Dad?" Hamish asked as he burst end threw he doors.

Hamish is my son. Long story short: teen pregnancy and the mom took full custody of him even though I want to see him. I left for war shortly after. I'm thirty now and by her grace I'm allowed to see him. I have him every other weekend.

"Not much," I said as I continue writing in my book. "How was school?"

"Fine," he said as he hopped on the counter. "Brought us sandwiches."

He placed the bag on the counter and began to eat. I finished writing my paragraph and closed the book. "How's your Mum?"

"Fine," he said as he stuffed his face with his meatball sandwich.

A pair of boys walked in and the small bell sang just to make sure we knew of their arrival.

"Hello," I smiled with food all in my teeth. I quickly swallowed and made sure nothing was in my teeth.

They smiled, "Morning." The two of them began to browse the shop.

I nudged Hamish to get off of the counter and he jumped down and wrapped up his sandwich.

When he jumped his shirt came up and I saw a black and blue on his back. Where'd that come from? He probably just fell. I mean he is 15 years old. Boys will be boys.

The pair of boys came to the counter and placed some books about "Coming Out" and how to tell your parents.

"Did you find everything alright?" I asked with a smile.

"Yeah," said the one as he grabbed the others hand.

I rang them up and they were on their way. Hamish began to make coffee and the shop fell silent.

"You know Hamish," I started. "If you were gay I'd still love you."

"Yeah," he said not being phased by it at all. He handed me the coffee, "But I'm not so that's a thing."

It fell silent again.

"I'd still love 'you' if you were gay," he said. "Just puttin that out there."

I took the coffee and laughed a bit. "Thanks."

He drummed his hands on the counter. "Well I should go to Mum's now so..."

"Alright, I love you see you tomorrow," I said from my seat.

"Love you too," then he left.

Then the store was quiet. No one was there. Just me alone. I spent the rest of the day alone.

-JW


	2. Chapter 2

Wake up. Brush my teeth. Get dressed, "And I'm off."

I locked the door and tried not to think about how I can't afford this house by myself anymore. I should probably just get a flat by myself. Less room for me to hate myself...

Today Hamish didn't come... I sat in the book shop writing, by myself. A couple people came by and left soon after.

I hope they know there are seats you can sit in. I even had the coffee machine out.

"I saw a film today oh, boy," my small radio sang out to me. "The english army had just won the war."

Sighing I got up and made myself some coffee.

"A crowd of people turned away, but I just had to look having read the book."

I sat back down and closed my eyes hoping to get just a quick nap.

"I'd love to turn you on," the song played. The instruments began to play. They grew intense and loud.

I heard the bell ring saying someone came in. I opened my eyes to see a man in an army uniform rush through.

"Get down!" He yelled to me as several other barged in making a mess of everything.

Bullets began to fly and I froze. One of them screamed and fell as he held his arm.

"Get down!" The man repeated as he threw a grenade.

I looked to see what he threw. The man had dark curly hair and black nail polish threw it but I was shot in the shoulder and fell! ... Right back in my seat...

I jumped and woke up. Just a dream.

"Hello?" That man stood in front of me. He moved his painted finger away from my shoulder which he just poked.

I took a deep breath and whipped my face, "Yes, hello. Sorry, uh, can I help you find anything?" trying to hide my panic.

I looked at the man, who was very attractive. His hair fell perfectly in place on his head of dark curls with an undercut and heavy eye line with one gauged ear no bigger than a dime. His pale skin made his bright eyes stand out even more with the eye liner.

"Can I put this flyer up here?" He asked as he held up a flyer.

"Sure," I said as I grabbed some tape and took the flyer. I leaned over the counter and placed it in the middle.

My eye caught glimpse of what the flyer said. It said something about a room for rent.

Quickly I grabbed it again and read it. "How much?"

He looked at me a little surprised at my reaction.

"It's just I've been looking to get something smaller, thats all. I just live by myself and can't afford my place with my income," I tried to explain. "I'm John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes," he said. He half smiled then stood there for a second then walked into the art section of the shop.

Wow, his face is very attractive...

I felt my face grow pink. Slowly I picked up my pen then started to write.

Stop blushing! You are a grown man, not a school girl. Plus he's probably not into men. Even if he was he wouldn't go for me.

He placed his books on the counter. They were about different various painters.

"You paint?" I asked.

"Yes, I also play violin at various hours of the day. Sometimes I don't eat, sleep, or talk for days. Also as my flat mate you should know that you will be used as a model," he stated, "Is that alright?"

I nodded, "It's absolutely fine." I handed him his bag of books.

"I'll see you."

He seems nice.

-JW


	3. Chapter 3

When I got to the flat on Baker Street I just brought my clothes. The box of clothing was rather large and I couldn't really open the door.

I knocked on the door and an old woman answered. "Hello?"

"Oh uh, hello ma'am. I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes, am I at the right place?"

"Oh yes, dear, he's upstairs," she stepped aside to let me in and closed the door. "I'm Mrs Hudson, you must be John."

"Uh yeah," I said as I tried to get a better grip on the large box. "I'm John Watson. Nice to meet you ma'am."

"Oh that box must be heavy. Sherlock will show you to your room. He's right up stairs, either door. They both belong to you two now."

I walked up the steps and saw an open door. "Sherlock?" I asked as I put the box down. "It's John," I said as I looked at my hands that were rather tender now.

There were gallons of paint piled in one corner and tons of paintings on the ground. There was a white curtain draped like you would see in studios when taking family photos. There was a table with a clay sculpture that was unfinished. Near the window was a music stand and sheet music and a violin near.

I walked over to a painting that was on the ground. It wasn't finished and the paint was smudged as if he didn't like it, but it was a little shop that was near my book store and people standing near.

There were foot steps from the hallway behind me. "Oh don't look at that one," Sherlock said as he cleaned his hands with a towel. There was paint all over his bare tattooed torso. A cluster of honeycombs laid on his right shoulder and arm, there were antlers that lined perfectly with his V line. There were F hole like a violin on his back that toned him even more.

"I'm sorry," I blushed as I tried not to stare. "This is really good though."

"It's sloppy," Sherlock insisted. Sherlock looked around and noticed his mess. "Sorry about," he motioned to the entire living room, "the... Uh clutter." He tossed the towel on the ground then pulled up his skinny jeans.

"An artist at work," I said, "I understand. I used to paint a lot too."

"Now you write, I see," he said as he picked up my box and headed to my room.

I began to follow, "Yeah how could you tell?"

"Your hands," he started as he opened the door that would be my new room, "Delicate as a painter but you don't take care of them which would either make you a writer, a musician, or a sculptor. Your fingers have no rough patches that would have if you played and your fingernails are too long to sculpt without a problem, so you must be a writer."

He placed the box down and ran his fingers through his hair.

"That's... Brilliant," I said not being able to think of another word.

Sherlock half smiled, "We can talk about the modeling shoot over dinner tomorrow."

-JW


	4. Chapter 4

Wake up. Brush teeth. Get dressed. "And I'm off," I said to myself.

"I'll see you when you get back," Sherlock said from his chair in the sitting room.

I stopped in my tracks and had to do a double take. Having someone else live with me. I haven't had that since I lived with my parents.

Knowing that someone will be here when I get back made my day really exciting.

I opened up shop and made myself coffee. With a smile on my face I looked around and noticed how bland and boring my book shop was. Should I paint? Maybe I could do a mural.

Sherlock could sell his art here! That would be cool! Right? He is so handsome and talented, he could sell pictures of himself and they would fly off the shelves. Maybe I'll just advertise the coffee. I went in the back room and found a chalk board and my chalk was in a box near the pens.

"Coffee half off with any book!" I wrote in that classic coffee shop writing.

Honestly the bell rang a bit more once I put the sign out. But Hamish didn't come today.

When I come home I brought more of my stuff and I was excited for dinner with Sherlock tonight. As I opened the door I heard two violins playing together quite peacefully.

Reaching the top step one of the violins slipped and then the other stopped. "It's alright," said Sherlock in his deep voice, "You're getting better. Practice and it should be there this time next week."

I opened the door and Sherlock was standing in a much cleaner flat with a boy no older than 12 and a violin in his hand. "Thank you," he said then left the flat.

Sherlock turned and placed his violin in it's case. "You sounded really good," I said as I put the box down.

Sherlock turned to me not realizing that I came home. "Oh thank you John."

I looked around and the flat seemed so bare now. "Where's all of the... Art?"

Sherlock, in a button down and skinny jeans, put his violin carefully away in its case, "I teach violin and piano on Wednesdays and Thursdays so the art is in a different room." I tripped over a stack of paintings but caught myself. "Most of the art is in a different room."

He came to my side and helped me with the boxes. "Sorry I have so much stuff," it was mostly books and photos of Hamish and I, and my army days.

"I have dinner ready if you're hungry so we can start talking about our... Arrangement."

Arrangement? I mean, an agreement sure.

Before we sat down with Italian food that was very obviously ordered Sherlock took off his button down so that he was just in a black wife beater to show his arm tattoos, "Sorry, I hate wearing those."

"Those?"

"Shirts," he got seated, "In order for me to understand my art I need to know who you are," he started as he pulled out a legal pad and a pen. "What's your biggest fear?"

"That's a big first question," I had to think. I was so distracted by his art. His entier left hand up to his elbow was tattooed with each bone but the bones were stopped by a thick bar. "If you asked me about 15 years ago I would have said getting shot and dying-"

"Why is that?" He asked as he wrote something down and only stoped to lick the pen witch his pierced tongue when the ink stopped flowing.

"Well I was in the army."

He slowly stopped writing and looked at me, "Im sorry?"

"I was in the army?"

He nodded his head. "And your uniform?"

"I believe we moved it in today," I said as I ate some pasta.

He nodded and moved his dark hair out of his face, "Good to know." He wrote something down and his face grew a little pink, he cleared his throat and looked at me, "Relationship status slash sexuality?"

That's a little odd, "I uhh... I'm ... Separated. I have a son, but I was never married. It was a teen... Pregnancy thing," I don't regret Hamish, I love him with every fiber of my being, but his mother is out of control. "Sexuality I uh-"

"Wait-" Sherlock wrote stuff about my son. "There's more there about your son. Talk about that." His beautiful blue eyes were blocked by his locks of hair but you could see his strong cheek bones since the sides of his head were shaved down.

"He lives with mom and I don't see him all that often," I admitted. "I wanted to be there but I got drafted so his mom took that opportunity to claim full custody."

I looked up at him but he was only writing. He has yet to touch his food but he did set out his own plate so I guess he planned on eating.

"Are you a wine person?" He asked as he finished writing and got up. He looked though his wine collection to see what he had to offer naming brands I've never heard of. I was so distracted by how goodlooking this man was that all I could do was concentrate on was his tattooed callor bone that stuck out of his button up.

"I'm more of a whisky man, actually," I said, "But I enjoy a good red wine ever so often."

-JW


	5. Chapter 5

I saw Hamish walking down the street so I grabbed the sandwich I made for the both of us to share. There was no one in the store so we could just eat on the counter, fuck it why not. Unwrapping it I put his half on a paper plate for him as he endtered "Hey buddy, how was your-"

"I want to live with you," he stopped me with his eyes full of tears. He walked into the back of the shop and threw his backback against the wall.

I quickly followed him, "Hamish whats wrong?" I said more shaky than I thought.

But instead he just cried to himself.

I hugged him and rubbed his back waiting for him to talk when ever he was ready. He cried into my chest and I didn't know what to do because for some reason I was crying too. I had never been this afraid for someone else. "You can tell me whats wrong," I said trying to stay strong.

But he still just held on to me.

I nodded and kissed his head. "Come on." I took a step and grabbed his bag. I closed the shop and took Hamish my home... our home.

I opened the door and a soft piano duet was playing, the pacing was slow but the notes where all there. "Where are we?" Hamish asked, eyes red and drained of energy.

"I got a smaller place, and a flat mate," I explained as we made my way up to my room.

"Who plays piano poorly?" he laughed a bit and wiped his eyes.

"He gives lessons, actually," I explained as the song came to an end and Sherlock gave his notes to his student.

"So you move out of the house you had and move into a flat that you have to share," he started to laugh, "with some boring old man that-"

"John, I was thinking about a painting idea," he said as he entered the room without knocking and taking off his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a skull of a horned animal covered in flowers on his side, I never saw that one before. I mean I havent seen most of them, he has so many. Sherlock turned around, shirtless to see my son sitting on my bed and me blushing. "Oh, hello."

Hamish was at a loss for words, I guess he wasnt expecting this man to be my flatmate. No one was talking because no one really knew what was happening and I was too distracted by the shear beauty of this man to form a thought other than, "Holy fuck."

-JW


	6. Chapter 6

"I'll get everything sorted out, but come here after school okay?" I kissed Hamish's head, "I love you Hamish."

"I love you too," he said and then was off.

Sherlock was setting up his camera and opening and closing and then opening again the curtains, only in this pj bottoms. "For lack of better wording," he started, "Why is he here now?"

I took a sip of my tea exhuasted since I didnt get the best of sleep now that I might have to sleep on the couch for a while until we get this whole bed thing figured out. "He came into my shop crying saying he wants to stay with my instead now."

"Did he say why?" He asked as he walked over to me.

"Not yet," I said mildly defeated, "I didnt want to pressure him since he was already-"

The camera clicked. I looked up to him looking down at the camera to see the picture he just caught.

"What was-"

"Its perfect," he said and then went to into another room. He came back with arms full of art supplies and still with no shirt on.

Sherlock came to a stop to just drop everything on the floor and quickly set everything up and was going back and forth from looking at the canvas to the camera and drawing a line or two with a pencil.

Now watching this whole event happen was amazing. He stood there in silence for about an hour just painting, mixing the paint on his palette and transforming the blank canvas into a portrait of me drinking my tea. He'd mess up a color mixure and pick it up off the pallette and wipe it on his stomach and side. The details that were put into my hair, my eyes were so fine, I dont think anyone has ever looked so fondly of me even if it was a picture.

After standing in silence for an hour he finished and signed the bottom then dropped the pallette and brushes in his hand. He took a step back and ran his paint stained fingures through his hair and rubbing his collar bone, looking... kind of turned on...

"Sorry," he said, "The emotions were just so..." he motioned to the painting, and sat down on the coach "Raw."

"That," I said and then took a step closer to the painting of me, "was amazing."

I have never self so honored in my entire life. When I was in the army I was recognized for services that I have done but this... this is amazing.

"Does your son know about your bisexuality?"

I froze. "My what?"

"Your son?" he repeated but I just looked at him. "Oh your bisexuality?"

"I'm not..." I started to lie but he stood up and was inches away from me. His blue eyes looked into mine as they jumped back and forth from my eyes to my lips and I was lost. "I mean I never... uh..."

My eyes locked onto his lips and he started to lean in. But my phone buzzed. We both stopped and slowly I grabbed my phone.

-JW


End file.
